


Saved?

by keepcalmanddonotblink, MashiarasDream



Series: Hello, Dean [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas is dead, Dean POV, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, post s9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:45:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2361620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepcalmanddonotblink/pseuds/keepcalmanddonotblink, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashiarasDream/pseuds/MashiarasDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas has saved Dean Winchester. But Dean has killed Cas in the process. This is the aftermath for Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saved?

„How the hell did you get here?“

“Oh, you’re awake.”

“No, wait, how the hell did I get here? Answer that one first. No, wait, why the hell am I cuffed to the bed? That’s the most important one.” Dean ripped at the cuffs but they were sturdy.

Sam got up from behind his laptop, arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t remember?”

“Don’t remember what? Sammy, stop this bullshit. Un-cuff me.”

“No. Not yet.” Sam went back to the table in the motel room and filled a plastic cup. He gingerly edged closer to the bed. „Drink this.“

“Sammy, what the hell?”

“Drink. I’m serious.”

“What if I don’t?”

Sam shrugged. “I’ll let you rot on that bed until you’re thirsty enough to drink.”

With a barely hidden snarl, Dean snatched the cup from Sam and downed it in one gulp. Then he threw the cup towards the foot-end of the bed. “There, happy now?”

Sam nodded: “Happier, yes. That’s another thing off the list.”

Understanding dawned on Dean’s face. “Holy water? You made me drink fucking holy water?”

Sam shrugged. “Gotta be sure.”

“Sammy, what the hell is going on?”

Sam’s face didn’t soften a single bit when he crossed his arms again.

“Sammy, I don’t understand.” Then Dean’s gaze fell on the bandage around his arm. “What in the…?”

Sam followed his gaze. “It’s burned out. The mark. I couldn’t do much for it apart from clean the wound and wrap it.”

“The mark…” Something stirred in Dean’s brain. “The mark of Cain.”

“Jesus, dude.” Finally, something seemed to break in Sam. He sat heavily down on the bed, as if his legs had just given out under him. “You honestly don’t remember.”

Dean kept staring at the mark, trying to figure this out. “I’m Dean Winchester. You’re my brother Sam. We hunt monsters. It’s the family business.”

“Yeah, Dean, that’s not the part that I meant.”

Dean stared up at him.

“I meant the part where you became the monster.”

Sam’s voice was too flat, way too flat. His brother was the one who was good with emotions. If his voice was flat, something was very wrong. He shook his head. He remembered the mark. He remembered – a darkness. Slowly, he shook his head. “Help me out, Sam. Where did you find me?”

“A warehouse. At the edge of town. Your lair, by the looks of it.”

“My lair?”

“Thought I’d have to go as far as to ask Garth to send backup, but by the time I made it there, you had killed most of your goons already. The others fled, I guess.”

Glimpses of memories came back to Dean’s mind. A wide concrete space. His own voice barking commands. His blade coming down at a victim strapped to a chair. A hollow feeling in his stomach opened like an abyss from the inside. “I tortured again”, he stated. No need to ask when he could still see the panic on the stranger’s face.

“Yeah, I guess you did. It didn’t look good anyway.”

“Who was it?”

“What?”

“The guy in the chair. The one I tortured. Who was it?”

Sam gave him a baffled look. Then his expression became guarded. “Dean, I think we’re talking about different people.”

“Different? But how? What did I do? What did you find?” Guarded Sam was even worse than flat-voiced Sam. Guarded Sam meant he wanted to protect him from something. And if still-not-sure-whether-you’re-my-brother-or-a-monster Sam wanted to protect him from something, it had to be pretty damn horrifying.

“Sam? Goddamnit. Tell me.” Dean strained against the cuffs, unable to contain the sudden nervous energy.

“Dean…” Sam ran his hand through his hair. “Dean, before you killed your goons… There was a fight. I found a body, Dean.”

“Stop saying my name like that! Just fucking tell me!” Something frantic had entered Dean’s voice and as much as he tried, he couldn’t keep it out. Even if he didn’t want to know the answer, even if he had learned from experience, well, Sam’s experience, that it was sometimes better to keep the walls up, he had to know.

Sam gave him a rueful look before answering a tight-lipped: “It was Cas, Dean. I found Cas’ body.”

It felt like all the air got sucked out of him in an instant, the pain so strong that he doubled over.

“I believe that he brought you back.”

Dean opened his mouth, wanted to say something, anything, but no sound came out.

“I – I got a letter from Cas a couple of days back. I came as fast as I could. But I don’t think he wanted me to come in time. He said that he thought he had found a way to save you. That he didn’t know whether it would work. But that he had to try.”

The sparkle of metal in the dim light of the warehouse. The flash of an angel blade slicing down. A scream. Gasping for breath. Muffled cries of pain when Dean’s hand ripped at hair. And then, oh God, and then -

“He said that it was his Grace that could save you. But that he had to get close enough to you.”

Lips murmuring inaudible words against his. Sudden blinding light. Then burning. Burning pain, hotter than hellfire, but cleansing, clearing his mind.

“He wanted me to be there.”

And blood. Red blood gushing everywhere.

“I thought he wanted me to help. Or to be the second line of defense. I should have known that it wasn’t that.”

His own voice echoing in the wide open concrete space, recognizable to himself now but panicked. His hands in a flurry of motion. Then fingers on his. Cold, so much colder than they should be, and slick from the blood. Blue eyes trapping his.

“He wanted me to be here to pick up the pieces. Whether it worked or not. He knew he wouldn’t come out of this alive.”

_Hello Dean._

Glassy blue eyes filming over.

The sudden absence of bubbling breaths.

And then a scream filled his mind, louder than anything he’d ever heard before, less human than any noise that could come out of a mouth, and he recognized it as his.

* * *

When he woke the next time, his hands were free. He moved them forward to look at his wrists. No bruises.

And wasn’t that just like Sam, taking care not to bust him up even when he thought he was a monster. Even when he deserved to be busted up.

His lips pressed into a tight white line, he started tugging at the bandage around his forearm.

“Not yet. I’ve changed the bandage out earlier. Leave it alone for now.”

Dean raised his eyes to his brother but found that he couldn’t hold his gaze. “How long was I out?”

“Through the night and the best part of the morning. Are you hungry?”

Dean felt the emptiness in his stomach where it fell away into the abyss.

_Please, please just kill me…_

“No, not hungry”, he answered gruffly.

“I bought pie.” Sam pointed to the table and indeed, there was a plastic container with pie.

“No.” Dean got up and went to the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Sam had cleaned him up well enough, but he needed a shower. He dragged the t-shirt over his head and stared at himself in the mirror. The damage seemed negligible.

How could he have fought Cas and the damage was negligible?

He leaned closer to the mirror, checking himself for wounds and bruises.

The answer was simple, of course. Cas hadn’t wanted to hurt him. Dean had tortured him while Cas made sure he fought without hurting him. It twisted Dean’s guts into a knot that he was sure would never let food pass through again.

He froze in his thoughts when he saw a splatter of blood above his collar-bone. Sam must have missed it when he cleaned him up. Cas’ blood.

He stared at it. A tiny galaxy of red stars on his skin.

Then he took his shirt and pulled it back over his head.

* * *

“Dean, you reek.”

It was the third day that he could consciously remember. He hadn’t managed to move further than the bathroom yet. And he hadn’t managed to shower, either.

“Dean!”

He didn’t understand why Sam didn’t just leave. He should. So he just turned his head away and looked at the wall. Maybe he would get the hint.

“There have been ghost sightings in a mansion two towns over. Apparently a bunch of settlers were massacred there in the old days. We should do something about that.”

It was a change of tactics from the standard ‘let’s talk about your emotional crap’ that Sam had tried for the past few days.

“You don’t need me for that”, Dean mumbled.

“But I sure as hell am not going to leave you alone.”

He turned around enough that he could see Sammy sitting at the table. “I’ll be good. I’ll shower while you are out.” But he couldn’t stop his gaze from straying to the angel blade sitting next to the laptop.

“Uh-huh, I betcha that’s what you’d do”, Sam laid a hand on the angel blade and drew it a little closer to himself. “I won’t let you kill yourself, Dean”, he added flatly. “That isn’t what Cas died for.”

Dean let his head fall back to the pillow and went back to staring at the wall.

* * *

“I burned the body.”

Dean didn’t turn but his shoulders tensed and his breath hitched.

It was enough for Sam to know that he was awake and listening. “He was a hunter. Or at least as much as Cas was ever going to be a hunter. So I thought a hunter’s funeral was fitting.”

_I chose free will. I chose humanity._

The abyss inside him was wider than the Grand Canyon. Still: “Thanks, Sam.”

A hand on his shoulder, heavy and warm for a moment, before it was gone.

* * *

“Garth forwarded me this.” Sam dangled his hand over his face, close enough that Dean couldn’t avoid seeing the envelope in it. “It’s for you.”

“I don’t want it.” He screwed his eyes shut.

“It’s from Cas.”

The pain was so acute that he thought he might vomit.

Sam carefully laid the envelope down next to his head on the pillow.

“I’ll be in the shower.” Sam went and took all the weapons with him as he had taken to doing every time he went to the bathroom.

It wasn’t necessary.

Dean’s limbs felt so heavy that he could barely move a muscle while staring at the creamy white of the heavy paper in front of him.

He stared without blinking until his eyes hurt. Then he stared some more.

“Are you going to open it?”

Fabulous hair dripping, towel still in hand to dry it, Sam was back from his shower.

“I don’t think I can.”

“Do you want me to…?”

“No!”

“Alright.”

* * *

“Dean, this is getting ridiculous.”

And maybe it was. “I showered, didn’t I?”

He had the letter now, after all. He had something that had belonged to Cas, other than his blood on his neck.

“Just open the goddamn letter. You know Cas wanted you to have it.”

He let his fingers glide along the edges of the envelope. Yeah, he guessed Cas had wanted him to get the letter. He had left it with Garth (maybe just because he was still alive, maybe because Cas knew he could trust him, no matter what he’d become) with the express order to send it to Dean when Garth had word that Cas was dead.

Angry tears sprang into his eyes and he fought them away, biting out a terse: “Why? Why the hell did he have to come for me? Why couldn’t he just stay away?”

Sam just shrugged, his voice even: “You have a letter. Open it and maybe you’ll find out.”

* * *

“I can’t take it anymore. I need to get out of this room. Get your ass up and get dressed.”

“I’m not coming.”

“Yes, you are. We’re getting breakfast. Now.”

Sam threw a shirt and pair of pants at him.

He made the effort and tried to catch them but it was as if he had forgotten how his muscles worked.

Sam put his hands on his hips and growled at him. It was easier just to do what he said.

He put the envelope in the chest pocket of his plaid before leaving the room.

Sam ordered pancakes for them and Dean fought them down.

Every bite wanted to come back up.

Sam nodded at him when he managed to eat the whole thing. It was less than a quarter of the portion his old self would have eaten.

But Sam patted his hand. “That’s good. That’s very good. I’m proud of you.”

* * *

A week after that, Sam convinced him that it was time to move on. “A change of scenery will be good. And I need to check the bunker.”

They packed their belongings.

“Do you want to drive?” Sam held out the keys of the Impala to him.

“No.” He shook his head.

“Come on, she’s your Baby.”

“I abandoned her. She’s yours now.”

“Dean!” Sam shook his head in exasperation. “She’ll never be mine and you know it.”

“Just drive, Sam.”

* * *

They fell into a routine. Getting up, checking the news. Sam doing research. Giving Dean small jobs to do on his own.

He never left him alone for too long. Whether it was grocery shopping or hunting, Dean was supposed to stay by Sam’s side. Or be a step behind. Never further away. Never in front.

Dean didn’t complain. If this was what it took to get through another day, he’d do it.

He hated that Sam had taken his liquor, though. Not that it helped much. But at least he forgot for a little while.

Problem was, last time he’d drunk too much, he’d gone for the angel blade, apparently intent on throwing himself into it. Not that he remembered much of it. But Sam’s shiner and his own wrist cuffed to the bed again were indication enough even without the hurt and betrayal in Sam’s eyes.

How could he complain after that?

* * *

“Let’s get rid of the bandage, shall we?”

It was the tone you’d use with a six year old who’s afraid of doctors. Still, Dean nodded and held his arm out to Sam. Going along with whatever he wanted was the easiest.

Carefully, Sam unwrapped the bandage. “Alright. Does that hurt?” He slowly applied pressure to the skin.

Dean shook his head, careful to avoid looking at the thing. He didn’t want to see the mark. It had cost him everything. No, he had cost himself everything. The mark was just a reminder. He was the monster. All of this crap had been in him all of his life. Probably was still there, just went back into hiding.

“All good then. You’re all healed.”

A hollow laugh formed in his chest. All healed, alright.

“Dean.”

There was so much pity in Sam’s voice that Dean couldn’t stand it. He rolled down his sleeve and got up. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Dean!” Sam shouted after him. “Dean, you might wanna look at…”

The door crashed close with a bang.

* * *

He delayed it as long as he could. But there was no way to shower without looking at the mark.

Sighing, he shrugged out of his plaid while letting the water run to warm it up.

He hesitated another minute before finally purposefully turning his arm.

He expected angry red welts in a familiar shape.

What he saw was ink-black.

He made it to the bowl before throwing up.

Once his stomach was empty, he looked at the mark again.

Black wings. It was shaped like black angel wings.

* * *

He stayed under the shower long enough that Sam banged on the door. “Are you alive in there, Dean? Dean!”

He knew he had to answer or Sam would just pick the lock on the door.

“Yeah, I’m alive. I’m coming in a minute.” His voice sounded about as hoarse as you’d expect after a solid hour of crying.

He hated that, too. That weakness.

He let his finger glide over the slight ridge that made up the outlines of the mark.

Black wings. Like Cas’.

“You stupid son of a bitch”, he whispered.

But he let his fingers glide over the mark once more.

* * *

It became a habit.

Every time the pain was unbearable, he pressed his fingers into the mark. Every time, the angel blade seemed the best alternative, he stared at the black wings until his eyes hurt and the urge passed.

He treasured the mark. He could hold on to it.

“Had to mark me yours even in dying, huh?” he asked the darkness at night, stopping only when he noticed what he was doing. “Shouldn’t be talking to you, probably. Got no right.”

But the next night, he whispered a “good night” into the air.

And the next, he even half-smiled.

* * *

Things got better, slowly, pace like a glacier. But they did get better.

Until one day, Dean woke up and it was a year to the day. A year to the day that Cas had given his life for him. That he had taken Cas’ life.

“I’m going for a walk, Sammy. I won’t be long.”

Sam gave him a worried glance but he nodded. He had given up following every single step Dean took. “Take your cell.”

“You tracking my GPS?”

Sam didn’t even bother denying it.

Still, Dean slid the phone into his pocket.

He made his way out of the bunker into the woods.

Bees and flowers and trees. Cas had loved all that nature shit.

He had no grave. No place Dean could visit. No place he could say his goodbyes.

So the forest it was. The place where he was closest to Cas.

He found himself a tree stump in a bright little clearing.

He took the envelope out of his pocket. The edges were worn and the paper slightly crumpled.

He took care of it, treating it with more caution than even Baby.

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind, ever. So it was worn.

With his pocketknife he sliced along the top.

His heart always felt heavy, but the abyss inside him hadn’t been this acute in months.

Still, since he had decided he was going to do this, he didn’t want to back out of it now.

Slowly, he unfolded the single sheet of paper.

Cas’ hand-writing was neat and round. The letters leaned slightly to the left, as if hesitant to flow from the pen to the paper.

No wonder. Dean bit his lip. He had failed everybody in his life, but none so utterly as Cas.

He focused his gaze on the actual letters instead of the ink.

_Hello Dean._

_I assume that we will not be seeing each other again when you read this._

_You have told me that we are family. You wanted to save me when I didn’t want to be saved. I will now do the same for you. I believe that is what family is for._

_You have told me once that you need me. I think that still holds true, even though you would not agree right now._

_And I have found that I need you, too._

“Damnit, Cas.”

_Do not curse at me now, Dean. You are prone to using my Father’s name in vain._

_You have a world to save and a brother to look after. I have only you._

_Please understand, Dean. I chose you. I will not turn back._

_Thank you. For everything._

_Go live your life now._

There was no signature.

He squinted into the slanted sunlight and folded the letter back up into its envelope.

He hadn’t deserved him. Not even in the very first moment.

_I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._

But Cas had never let that deter him.

So maybe if he couldn’t do much else, at least he could give him this much. He could live and he could care for Sammy and he could honor being a family.

“We are, Cas. We are family. And I’ll try. I will try to live. For you.”

It was all the promise he could make.


End file.
